Broken
by Jacinda
Summary: Post No Humans Involved: Follows the scene after Sara types in her court case No relationships - just friendships; just Sara Angst- FIN
1. Broken

My father said that I was in good hands. He left my mother for a much younger woman; it didn't sit well with my mother. He said that I would always have a home with Mom; he neglected to mention where he was going or how I could contact him. I was ten years old sitting on the porch watching my father leave with a blonde woman that clung to his every move. The letters continued for a year, but my father seemingly fell of the planet.

Life changed drastically from that moment forward. My brother had already moved out of the house; after turning eighteen, he wasted no time packing his bags and saying good-bye. I remember watching him leave in a beat up old Toyota that only made it to Los Angeles on luck and silent prayers. He said he'd call. He said that he loved me. I haven't heard from him since. Sometimes, I wonder if he's dead; other times I wonder what was so wrong with me that he never called.

At ten years old, I watched my entire world begin to fall apart. I watched my mother slowly and progressively stop caring. I couldn't make it better. I couldn't make the right food for supper; I couldn't get good enough grades. She always found fault in me. She found fault in most of the world around her. She became a cold and bitter woman that in no way resembled my mother. I couldn't even bear to call her my mother; I called her Laura. I was slapped across the mouth for that act of disrespect, but I attributed it to her state of emotional shock. At that point, I didn't know how it would escalate. I didn't know how much my life would change.

The men would come and go. Some would stay the night; others would throw a few bucks on the table to thank Laura for her services. I knew what was going on, so did the rest of the town. Tamales Bay wasn't a huge community; it was so small that a scarlet letter was quickly associated with Sidle family name. We had committed so many sins. People knew our secrets, but none of them ever stepped in to make things right for the youngest victim . . . me.

Eight days shy of my eleventh birthday I called the cops frantically explaining that I needed someone to come save me. I could barely talk, let alone breathe. There was a tremendous amount of blood in my mouth and my jaw was broken. I couldn't see out of my right eye; there was too much blood.

Her john finished with her early. She lay passed out in her bed; probably, too much ethanol and God knows what else she took to make giving up sex a little easier. He came into my room in the middle of the night. I remember the feeling of his hand over my mouth; I remember him telling me not to make a sound. I remember thinking that I wouldn't make it to my eleventh birthday.

He molested me in the cruelest way possible. Laura walked in and accused me of taking her business away. I could tell by the look in her eyes that she meant it. She wasn't kidding when she fired off a bunch of obscenities. Laura beat me senseless. Her knuckles pounded the entire extent of my body. I remember the look of rage in her eyes; that was the minute that I knew that I was no longer her daughter. I had become her burden. I wanted to die; there was no one left to love me as I needed to be. At ten years old, I was wishing for death to come quickly, but it wouldn't. I would spend weeks in the hospital getting my broken body repaired. There were endless surgeries. There was one very kind plastic surgeon that did all the repair work for free; he said I reminded him of his daughter when she was young.

Social workers and child services searched for my father and my brother, but each day I was greeted with the sorrow of being unwanted. A few women from the community had come to see me; they saw the story on the local news. They felt bad for me; they brought me stuffed animals. I didn't want them; I wanted my family. It was something that I would never have again.

I was tossed from foster home to foster home before James and Tanya Adams decided to take me in permanently. I was a quiet, scared sixteen year old that they wanted to heal. The social workers slowly disappeared; I lived with the Adams in their quiet suburban home with no complaints. I never bonded with them, but I made sure they knew that I was thankful for the security that they provided for me. I cleaned my room, I made supper after school, and I excelled in every facet of school. This seemed to please them, but I couldn't open up to them. I would never open up to anyone. I remained a broken, fragile being that always felt lost among people that were so well-adjusted.

I'm staring at the computer screen. I want to know if Laura has been paroled. I want to know, but I don't want to know. I've changed addresses so many times that the courts have had a hard time keeping up with me. I have no desire to go to court and explain all the reasons why Laura should not be paroled. I'm too tired to do that; I am in no way strong enough to do that.

I look at Sophia and Grissom and the guys in the conference room across the hall. I feel isolated. I feel the room getting smaller. I know I'm hyperventilating; I'm not sure if I'll be able to keep this emotional outburst tucked away. This hurts too much; it hurts so much that it had burned a hole in my belly that I've never been able to patch.

The news is inevitable. Laura has been paroled; she's been out for a year. I hurl the nearest coffee mug against the wall. The sound of glass shattering doesn't make me feel better; I had hoped it would. I look around momentarily self-conscious. They all are looking at me. I quickly turn off the computer and look for an escape; I move like a wounded animal. I must look like one too because none of them approach me. My shift is over; I quickly clock out. I toss my things into my locker and run down the hall in an attempt to escape. Once I am outside, I feel like I can breathe again. Breath is quickly replaced by nausea and angry, acidic tears that burn my face. I quickly lock myself into my Tahoe. I rest my head on the steering wheel and begin to sob.

They haven't followed me. After four and a half years, I had the modest expectation that one of them might. I am closer to my co-workers than I ever was to my family, but I find myself alone again. This time there is no social services to save me or plastic surgeon to carefully disguise my wounds. I'm on my own, and I don't have any idea as to how to fix myself.


	2. Crazy

I drove myself home. I turned up the radio as loud as my ears could handle. The noise momentarily stopped the memories and thoughts I was under the impression that I had done a good job repressing. I hadn't expected them to be so intense when the resurfaced. I never prepared for the distinct possibility that someday I would have to confront all the issues that I ran from. I ran to Boston, Chicago, and San Francisco; I was too tired to keep running when I got to Las Vegas. I thought I might just stop and walk for a while. Four and a half years was an eternity compared to how much time I actually wanted to spend in one place; it always lurked in the back of my mind that Laura might come back to finish what she failed at.

I sat in my Tahoe staring at the door to my apartment complex. The world seemed so much scarier; she could be anywhere. I was terrified to take a step out of the locked oasis I was currently sitting in. I ran my fingers over one of the scars cleverly hidden in my hairline. It was slightly raised; last time I looked at it, it was silver against my tanned skin. I felt the tears begin to wedge themselves in my throat.

The tap on my window caused me to scream and duck for cover in preparation for what I thought would be her face; her pointy features and long curly hair. In my mind, the memory of her peaches and cream skin had been wrapped into something much more befitting a witch or demon.

"Sara, open up," I heard Greg say. I knew I didn't have to be afraid of him. I tried to tell myself that he wouldn't hurt me. I might have even said it out loud before I sat up and unlocked the door. I had expected Grissom; maybe part of me even wanted it to be Grissom. Grissom was safe; something about Grissom had always made me feel safe.

"Let's go inside," Greg said as he took the keys from the ignition. I couldn't look at him; I could feel the blanket of shame beginning to suffocate me. I followed him; he felt safe. I wasn't sure if he could win a struggle with Laura, but I knew he would at least try.

"Could you make sure she's not here?" I whispered; I couldn't even recognize my own voice. I wrapped my arms around my torso in an effort to stop the trembling as Greg opened my apartment door.

"Who are we looking for, Sara?" Greg asked as he ushered me into the room. I immediately made sure that my back was pressed against the wall; I didn't want her to surprise me from behind.

"Make sure my mother isn't here," I replied. I sounded so crazy; I knew I sounded insane, but Laura couldn't be trusted. She was supposed to protect me; she was my mother, but she tried to kill me.

"Okay," Greg replied. He sounded confused, but he did as I asked. I stood frozen against the wall as Greg began to patrol my small apartment. Only when he returned empty handed did I know it was safe for me for to move. I knew this was irrational, but I couldn't help it. The world seemed so much more dangerous now that Laura was free.

"Sara, what's wrong?" Greg asked as he sat next to me on the couch. I didn't know what to say; I didn't know if I could even begin to explain what happened to me as a child. It would probably scare the hell out of Greg. I knew it scared the hell out of me.

"Nick's back at the lab with Archie trying to figure out what website could have possibly gotten you so upset," Greg explained. I began to sob again; I began to sob so hard that I thought my chest would split apart from the intensity of the pressure.

I hadn't expected Greg to pull me into his arms; I hadn't expected anyone to come comfort me. I hadn't felt this kind of safety since the police officer carried me out of the house and to the ambulance. I remember the tall, African American man telling me that everything was going to be okay; I liked the tone of his voice. It was an immediate comfort; the arms of a stranger that I didn't even know protected me from the screams of a woman driven to the edge. I remember her screams; I remember her telling me that she would find me . . . I was always waiting for her to find me. I wondered what she would do when she found me.

I stayed curled in his arms until there was a knock on the door. I could feel my heart begin to palpitate against my chest wall; I could feel myself begin to shake again. I warned Greg to please be careful; I knew he didn't understand, but what Greg didn't understand could easily hurt him as she hurt me. I held my breath as he opened up the door. I think I gasped a smile, but audible gasp the instant the door swung open.

I swore that I might just be going crazy; I felt crazy. I hadn't felt like this since Laura attacked me; they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger . . . well, that was a lie. Laura created a weak spot in my armor that I had never been able mend. Now, everything was seemingly beginning to fall apart.

"Sara, I'm so sorry," Nick said as he tried to put hand on my knee. I jumped away from him; I was lost somewhere between a memory of Laura and reality.

"Sara, it's okay. Archie is working on locating Laura. It's going to be okay," Nick said. I liked the sound of his voice; it was reminiscent of the drawl the police officer had. I heard Greg lock the deadbolt; I was acutely aware of that noise because it provided me with a little more comfort. Nick said something softly. I had no idea what he was saying, but the gentle cadence of his voice was enough to begin to lull me into a restful sleep that I needed right now.


	3. Fault

I awoke to a full blown scream; it took me a minute to realize that I was screaming. It took me even longer to catch my breath. I gasped for air as if someone had been holding me under water; there was sweat dripping from my skin and permeating my clothes. I looked around confused; I momentarily didn't recognize my own bedroom. All I could see was my childhood room full of reminders of a youth cut short by violence. I could remember every inch of my childhood room; there was an ET poster on the wall. My brother bought the poster for me because I had fallen in love with the fleshy, rumpled alien.

"Are you okay?" Nick asked as he sat on the side of my bed. I didn't want to cry again; I willed myself not to cry again. I didn't know how to answer his question. I really wasn't okay, but the Sara Sidle that I created would never admit to weakness like the Sara Sidle that I left behind in a dirty apartment as a child. I created a persona to protect myself; I created a woman that was so much stronger than I believed I could be. I wanted to be Sara Sidle; I pushed myself to live up to how I thought this tough, independent woman would live. I always felt like I fell a few inches short.

"Sara, it's okay. We aren't going to let anything happen to you. She's not going to find you," Nick said as he rested a hand over my hand. I didn't move. I believed Nick; I knew he wouldn't let me get hurt. He worked so hard to keep people from getting hurt; even if it meant that he got hurt in the process. I used to be like that; as a child, I would have done anything to make my brother happy after Laura yelled at him. I was an adept performer by age six; I would sing to him. I loved my brother so much; I missed him so much.

"It's not your fault," Nick said, "It's not your fault."

I shook my head; I felt like it had been my fault. I hadn't locked the deadbolt on my door that night.

"It's something that I always wanted to hear. I'm sure it probably doesn't make you feel better, but, Sara, what Laura did wasn't your fault. You were only ten years old," Nick said. It dawned on me that I was only ten years old. It would take me two full days to realize what Nick had said and why.

"She didn't love me anymore. I could tell . . . she said that she wished I was dead," I replied.

"Laura was a sick woman . . . you don't need her to love you. You have so many other people that care about you more than she ever could," Nick replied, "Come on. Let's get something to eat, sweetheart."

It made me smile. My dad used to call me sweetheart. He used to slow dance with me to Frank Sinatra or some obscure jazz artist that he heard in a club during his own youth. I could remember the way he held me as we would dance in the living room; he never made me feel like 'Sara plain and tall.' The kids at school always teased me about my height and my sometimes ratty and worn attire. I knew that my family wasn't rich. I knew that the other kids had parents with good jobs, but good jobs didn't make great families. I was always thankful that my family seemed so much more stable than those of my peers. After all, my parents were still married. It took me a long time to realize that everyone has their secrets. My family had some really horrible secrets. I wondered if he stopped loving me too.

I followed Nick; Greg was passed out on the couch. I thought that I just might be lucky; I might be luckier than I thought. I was surprised that he didn't wake up to what I thought was my deafening scream. I was lucky that Nick and Greg stayed; I was lucky that they wanted to attempt to repair what I thought was broken beyond repair. I might have been broken, but at least I wasn't alone. As a child, I always felt alone. Even in the best foster homes I felt so alone.

"What do you want to eat?" Nick asked as he started to look through my refrigerator.

"Pancakes," I replied. I began to pull all the ingredients out of the cupboards. Nick let me fall into my own world of cooking and keeping my hands busy.

"You aren't seriously going to put banana in the pancakes, are you?" Nick asked me. I looked up at him.

"I was planning to," I replied as I continued to chop up the banana.

"Sara, that's gross," Nick replied. I started laughing; my brother hated bananas. Sometimes, Nick reminded me so much of him; sometimes, just being with Nick made me miss my brother so much.

"Have you ever tried it?" I asked. I hadn't realized that I forgot about Laura momentarily. Nick was always able to distract me like that; he was the one that always broke the tension at the lab. Lately, the lab almost needed someone to break the tension full time. It wasn't anyone's fault in particular; I blamed myself for trying to get involved with my supervisor. I tried to force the issue with Grissom; I shouldn't have tried to force him into a relationship. The only one that was able to do that was Lady Heather; maybe that's because she let him be the dominant one. I wasn't sure if anyone could ever dominate the personality that I had created.

"No, but it looks gross," Nick commented as he sat at the snack bar watching me make breakfast. I think it might have been his intention to keep my brain occupied with other things; it was so much easier than talking about the elephant in the room.

"Just try it before you start to complain," I lectured, "Thank you."

"Why?" Nick asked.

"For not asking me questions . . . it's hard to ignore an elephant that big," I replied.

"You'll tell us when you're ready. Just remember than you're not alone . . . people do sick things to a lot of kids," Nick replied. He let the conversation fall into silence. I was thankful for his presence; it made everything a little bit easier right now.


	4. Understood

We watched the Discovery Channel late into the afternoon; it was almost time to go back to work. Nick and Greg dozed as we watched documentaries about lizards, sharks, and snakes. Sleep was a little harder for me to come by; every time I would lapse into sleep, the nightmare would begin. Once, I woke with a jolt that caused Greg to jump. We were three people awkwardly waiting to find out exactly where Laura was. Greg didn't understand the urgency; unless Nick had told him during one of my many short-lived naps. Had Nick read the notes on the case, he understood the urgency. Nick must have understood that there was a very good chance that Laura's grudge may not have been put to rest by years and years of time behind bars. That time might have fostered her hate. There was a very good chance that she could come back to finish all the things that she had threatened so many years ago.

I was a grown woman, but I felt like there was still a terrified child locked away in the persona that I had created. Today, that terrified child was thrust upon the world following Laura's 'good behavior.' I felt a paranoia that I couldn't squelch even with the presence of two people that I knew I could count on to protect me. I felt small like I did when I was ten; I felt as though Laura was still so much bigger than me. It was ridiculous; I was trained to protect myself with firearms, but the monster Laura was couldn't be killed by bullets. I needed to find a way to kill the monster that loomed in the corner of my mind; I needed to get rid of the Laura that lived in all my dreams.

I began to devise a plan; the scientist in me wanted to believe that calculated actions could thwart the monster. I kept an extra gun in my nightstand; I never kept it loaded. After shift, I would load my gun. I would remember to leave my cell phone next to me on the nightstand. I would call Brass about getting a restraining order against Laura. I would put another lock on my front door. My list of 'I woulds' quickly grew to a list of enormous length. I neglected to think about what to do about the nightmares. Alcohol wasn't going to be an answer; I had nearly lost my job over that. I knew that I could always call my PEAP counselor if I was desperate. I wasn't sure if that would be enough this time.

I remembered Nick saying that I would tell him all about my problems when the time was right. I was just about ready to shake him awake when his cell phone rang. I was so tense that I think the benign noise might have made me jump. My adrenaline was surging. My heart was pounding and beads of sweat began to form on my forehead. The rational adult inside of me told me to calm down . . . it wasn't even my phone that was ringing.

Nick stood up and walked into my kitchen to answer his call. I immediately felt ashamed that I might be keeping him away from his personal matters; I immediately felt selfish for letting Greg and Nick spend their little free time protecting me from something that probably would never physically hurt me. I could feel my cheeks flush red with embarrassment.

"You okay?" Greg asked with a yawn tacked on to the end. I nodded. He smiled; he put a hand on my knee and reminded me that I was in good hands. I nodded again. I knew that I was in good hands; I just felt like I might be taking advantage of those good hands.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I was genuinely sorry; I was genuinely embarrassed for acting like a terrified child.

"It's okay to think about you and only you sometimes," Greg reassured me as if he already knew what I was thinking. I always thought I was like Grissom; I always thought that I was a ghost. I never realized that people knew me. To some degree that scared me, but right now, it made me feel safe. I didn't feel as alone as I did early this morning.

"I just feel ridiculous . . . I mean it happened eons ago," I reply.

"Twenty year is hardly eons, Sara. She did bad things to you . . . she said bad things to you. I'd be scared too," Greg replied. He knew; I wasn't mad. There was a strange comfort in knowing that I didn't need to tell him the story. I hadn't told anyone the story of how I became the Sara Sidle that I am today. I turned to him and smiled. Even if he didn't understand, he was trying so damn hard to think about how I might feel. It was like Greg just peeled off those layers of personality that I used to hide who I really was. I felt naked, but I felt understood.

"Any news?" I asked Nick as he sat down in an armchair in my living room. He looked sullen; he looked shaken. I hoped he wasn't a poker player. I didn't even know what to make of his face; I hoped it wasn't the news I dreaded . . . Laura lived in Vegas. I hoped that it wasn't something about Nick's family or someone in the lab; that might just be the worst news of all.

"Sara," Nick said. He stopped to take a deep breath. "Laura's dead."

I couldn't breathe; I couldn't speak. I wasn't even sure what I was feeling. I think I squeaked out the word how because Nick began to explain the unfortunate circumstances preceding my mother's final days on Earth. She committed suicide after going on a seventy-two hour bender . . . heroin and such. No one claimed her body. No one was able to get in touch with me, my brother, or my father; Laura was alone.

I began to remember the tiniest bits of information from my childhood. I remembered Laura making cookies; I remembered the way she looked when she would dress up for dates with my dad. I remembered her white overalls being stained with grass and dirt after she spent the afternoon in the garden. I remembered the way that her perfume lingered in the air of the huge Victorian house. I remembered my family all living in peace. For a few moments, I didn't remember the Laura that nearly killed me.

I sat sobbing in my living room. Nick and Greg were trying to tell me that this was all over; Laura couldn't hurt me anymore. I didn't hear them . . . I was too busy grieving the mother that I knew before my dad left . . . before I became the Sara that I am today. I was grieving a mother based on memories that were fuzzy; they were memories that might have been doctored to be remembered as a little bit better than reality.

It was over.

FIN


End file.
